The Great Work
by adhara.vivian
Summary: Voldemort punishes Lucius for the Department of Mysteries and losing the diary by letting Greyback bite his only son, causing Draco to lose the one thing he could always count on: his blood. Struggling with his identity an given a task he cannot complete, he is left turning to his godfather to stave off the beast and drawn to the one person he was cruelest to: Hermione Granger.
1. Prologue: I Wish I Was Someone Better

**Anti-Litigation Ward:** I do not own Harry Potter or any associated characters and am making no money off of this flight o fancy.

 **Author's Note:** Hello and thank you for giving this story a chance. This is just the prologue, setting up the rest of the story, but I promise Chapter I will have plenty of action to make up for it! This is a Dramione story, and it plays with the Draco-is-a-werewolf theory as well as filling in a plot hole that has always bothered me about Prisoner of Azkaban! Without further ado...

* * *

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Headmaster's Office. _

_10 June, 1994._

Remus Lupin paused in the doorway of Albus Dumbledore's office, he had been about to leave after handing in his resignation, but...there was something else bothering him "Albus...about the other night…something happened that shouldn't have happened."

"Oh?" Albus Dumbledore asked, voice strangely low and calm, despite all of the things that had happened in the past eight hours. "I've already told you, have I not, Remus, that you are not to blame for what happened?"

Remus shook his head, turning back to the Headmaster. "It's not that, Albus, though I do think you are being far too forgiving. No, it's about Miss Granger. When I was transformed...she howled to me, and the wolf recognised her and answered...but she didn't transform, and she isn't my mate. So...why did he answer? Werewolves only answer the calls of their own kind."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore answered calmly, as if they were discussing the weather. "Quite the mystery. As you pointed out, she is not a werewolf, so you should not have answered...it's possible Ms. Granger is destined to become a werewolf…"

"Albus, no!" Remus argued, eyes wide, seeing for a moment in his mind's eye the bright Gryffindor girl, scarred and in pain of transformation. "You can't let that happen!"

"Peace, Remus." Albus said, raising a hand. "I have no intentions of letting Miss Granger come to harm. There are other reasons why such a thing might have happened. There may be a werewolf somewhere in her ancestry….or…."

"Or what?" Remus asked, desperate for any kind of reason that might mean someone else might not be subjected to his curse.

"Not all werewolves are like the ones now." Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "The wulver and the faoladh, for example. They were not turned by violence, but have long since died out. It's possible that, like muggleborns, there are some born with the possibility of these old kinds."

"Should we tell her?" Remus asked, worrying his lip. "Prepare her for the possibility?"

"No." Albus said, turning serious. "She is just a child, though an intelligent one. Let's not have her worry where it is unnecessary. She has already lived a year more than she should through the time-turner. There is no need to concern her….but perhaps this information can help Severus in his attempts to improve the Wolfsbane potion. I will let him know."

"Headmaster…" Remus paused and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I could have hurt them. I was irresponsible and put the children at risk, but...thank you for giving me a chance."

Albus smiled at him sadly. "You deserve more chances than you have received, Remus. I am sorry that it had to end this way."

Remus gave the man a self-deprecating smile. "I went to school here. I knew about the curse. I never expected to come back for another year." With that, he left the office to go pack his things. Perhaps he could find a bookshop needing a clerk somewhere. A bookshop would be a nice change of pace.


	2. Chapter I: Whisper

**Author's Note** : Thanks to everyone who read, favourited, followed and especially reviewed this story! I hope you continue to enjoy it!

* * *

 _Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England_

 _11 June, 1996_

If the tales in the lurid two-knut books were true, it would have been grey and depressing, with odd mists rolling in over the manicured gardens of Malfoy Manor. Draco almost wished it _was_ , because it seemed _wrong_ to him that his father should be gone, stuck in Azkaban, and nature should choose the day he was forced to return to the Manor for summer holidays to break with the stereotype of a cool, wet, English summer and let the sun out to shine and glimmer off of the stone of the manor itself and the water of the fountains.

This seemed especially true when his mother informed him that the Dark Lord was in residence, and he was very displeased with Lucius for getting caught and for failing to get the prophecy, not to mention what happened in his second year. This seemed particularly unfair to Draco, as really, it was all Potter's fault, but he wasn't stupid enough to tell the Dark Lord that, especially with how frightened his mother was. Lucius was gone, and until he returned, it was his duty to take on his father's responsibilities and to take care of his mother. It didn't matter that he didn't feel ready, or that he was frightened, not that he'd admit it to anyone else. It was his _job_ , and he would do it well. He would prove to his father when he returned that even if he had never beat Potter to the snitch, or got better marks than Granger, he was a _true Malfoy_. He'd do whatever was required of him.

Inside the house, however, seemed much more apropos to the situation. It was surprisingly still inside, as if everyone were afraid to make a wrong move, or even breathe. He would have thought there was no-one here save for him and his mother, before he heard a hissed "Cissy!" from one of the hallways that led to Narcissa's smaller parlour. He resisted the urge to shake off his mother's guiding hand, until they were face to face with her sister and his aunt. Draco wished he could say that he wasn't frightened by her, but there was a madness in her eyes that he feared more than the witch herself.

"Bella." Narcissa said, somewhat affectionate, but her voice was tight despite herself. "Is there news?"

"Not yet." Bellatrix said with a sniff. "Our Lord is very cross with Lucius. He entrusted him with something of great value, and your husband lost it, and then when he was given a chance to redeem himself, he let himself be caught, forcing the Dark Lord to break his cover. He is still contemplating an adequate punishment for your husband, though he has some...ideas." Bellatrix's eyes skimmed over her nephew in an obvious way.

"Not Draco." Narcissa said, a note of desperation in her voice, as she put a protective arm around her son, almost instinctually. "If someone must pay for Lucius's crimes, let it be me. He's just a child!"

"I'm not a _child_." Draco replied, hating the way his voice wavered, just slightly. "With father gone, I'm the man of the house, and the only Malfoy by blood. I _am_ my father's son, and I _won't_ hide behind you, Mother."

Narcissa let out a deep groan of anguish at the same time Bellatrix let out a gleeful laugh. "You should be proud, Cissy! There are far too many cowards these days. At least your son knows how to play!"

"This isn't a game, Bella!" Narcissa snapped. "It's war and my son's life."

"If only _I'd_ had a son to offer up to the Dark Lord's service, I'd do it gladly, Cissy!" Bellatrix snapped, sweeping from the room and slamming the door behind herself with a bang that reverberated through the too-still manor.

* * *

Two days had passed before the Dark Lord wanted to see Draco, and as he had been waiting he hated that he was relieved the wizard hadn't yet called him. He had always known he wasn't a Gryffindor, courage and bravery did not come naturally to him. He had always thought growing up that he would feel honoured to meet the Dark Lord, and maybe in another life he would have been, if his father wasn't in dishonour and his home wasn't being used and abused by dirty, uncouth people he would have _never_ invited in of his own free will.

He shook his head to banish the thoughts, and dressed in his best robes, before heading down to the room that had once been the best ballroom, that now held the Dark Lord all but enthroned. He deliberately did not look at the dirt, grime, and blood that had built up on the usually immaculate black and white marble or the Death Eaters hugging the walls in a strange kind of horseshoe. His aunt led him to an area directly in front of what was usually a dais for musicians, but now held the Dark Lord in one of the antique chairs from his father's study.

"My Lord," He said, kneeling when he saw Severus in the corner of his eye, make a subtle movement in instruction. "I am honoured you have chosen our home in which to take up residence, and that you have asked to see me." He bit down on the part of him that was raging at the idea of kneeling to another wizard, remembering all the times his father had claimed that they were the _pinnacle_ of wizarding society, better than anyone, and here he was, kneeling in his own _home_. He scolded himself for such thoughts, reminding himself that his father served, and until Lucius returned, he had to do his duties, whether it was with the companies or with the Dark Lord. Still, he hated kneeling, He pushed the thoughts down, trying to keep his face a mask.

"Young Malfoy…" Voldemort said, his voice oddly dry, like fragile book pages. "Your home has been adequate, but your father's service has not."

Fear managed to keep Draco from bristling at the slight to Malfoy hospitality as well as his father. The second was oddly easier than the first. Draco loved his father, but their relationship was fraught with Lucius's disapproval and discipline, and the fact that Draco never felt as though he lived up to his expectations. "I apologise for my father's errors, My Lord." He replied. "Whatever I can do to aid you, I will do without a second thought."

If Voldemort had been more human, his lip would have curled. "You think that _you_ , a mere schoolboy...one who isn't even top of his _class_ , can _aid_ me?"

There was a titter of laughter through the rest of the Death Eaters ringing the ballroom, and in their amusement, Draco knew he had made a grave misstep. "I only meant that any task you would have, I would do it gratefully, My Lord, I would never dream of suggesting that I could do something you could not." He maneuvered, turning paler despite himself.

"The only aid you can offer me is to be a message to your father, boy." The Dark Lord hissed. "Severus...is your potion complete?"

Draco dared not look up as he heard his godfather move to his side, the Potion Master's black scuffed dragonhide boots moving into his field of vision. "It has not yet been tested, My Lord, but I believe it is finished."

"Well, we have a volunteer for testing, Severus." The Dark Lord replied, in a way that made a chill go down Draco's spine. "After all, Young Malfoy wishes to _aid_ us."


End file.
